


The Pity Of War

by jambal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - World War I, Falling In Love, Historical inaccuracies in abundance, M/M, Strange Meeting AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jambal/pseuds/jambal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Watson returns to France; to a different camp, ready to face the eventualities of war alone. He also faces Holmes, a mysterious young officer. Tumbling into an unprecedented friendship, together they struggle to grasp the difficulties of building a relationship on a foundation that was destined for devastation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_‘I do desire we may be strangers…’_

 

He stopped, suddenly. His feet no longer could manage the simple task of one in front of the other. His body was useless and stationary. His mind was propelling in every direction. He could only stand still and let it pass.

In the hospital it was different. He didn’t _often_ think about it. He couldn’t think about it. Perhaps because the pain in his leg was so severe, although, his real injury was like a dull, ache of a reminder, on his upper half. It didn’t pain him, but it was always present. It was a constant reminder that he was broken. He was not the ‘in thine own image’ that god intended. He was damaged. That is why he needed to return. He needed to feel useful.

He walked towards his new living quarters and thought about the hospital _because_ he was in a place that could put him back there, and after the hospital would come home. And he did not want that. He was not ready to go back _there_. He was not ready for anything. Not even the loft he was assigned. He was quite terrified of what was waiting for him there. Holmes. A stranger. He was walking to meet this man. Holmes D.J.C. He had already been there four days.

He felt anxious. He felt that he was not up to it, that he would eventually fall behind and Holmes would think him to be weak. But with the old leg now healed and the ruddy shoulder now a knarred scar of a wound, that would be hidden from all and would be forgotten almost as quickly as…

He was so close. _So close._ He was mere feet away. Then the blast propelled him backwards and forwards in quick succession and then he woke up in hospital and then he was invalided home. Back to the manor, back to the silence, back to his thoughts.

That was his life for the summer and he could almost catch himself smiling as he neared the loft.

He could breathe, for a moment.

Just for one moment.

As soon as he reached the ladder to the loft, he paused. He could see the other man’s shadow above him. Then he heard the sound of a floorboard. Holmes had walked across the room. He closed his eyes and tried to shake himself from his thoughts. This irrational fear of coming face to face with someone he was required to spend most of his time with was ridiculous. He had felt easy in the beginning. There were always exciting new arrivals and somewhat difficult departures, for some.

This was different because he was the new one. He was the one who had to fit into a regime that existed before him. When it was the other way around, he had coped. He greeted them. He ate with them. He retired to his private quarters. He coped.   
This was different. He had to meet this man and interact and live. He had to survive. They had to survive. Together. And that is why he paused. He felt uneasy. He felt nervous. He knew nothing of this man. Just what Major Lestrade had told him, ‘Odd young fella. Eager. Quiet.’   
  
The sounds from above had stopped.

His head felt heavy.

He felt sick.

Oh, for goodness sake…

He did not want to meet Holmes. He was quite content at the bottom of the ladder, one foot resting on the bottom rung. That is where he belonged, he thought.

Quick, like a bandage. Up you go.

He climbed the ladder very quickly. Holmes was standing in the centre of the room and appeared to be reading something.

‘Excuse me. Good evening.’

The other man turned quickly, excitedly and said, ‘Watson,’ with an intonation that was foreign to his ears. In his shocked stupor he stood upright and hit his head on a wooden beam that seemed to appear from absolutely nowhere, just for that exact moment.

‘I’ve been doing that for the past four days,’ Holmes was smirking.

Of course he had, because Watson looked at him. Holmes was a towering man. He stood, almost hunched, in the loft. Watson by no means could match him. They approached each other and shook hands. Holmes was younger, but Watson couldn’t guess by how much. He was taller, that was evident. He also had a look of amusement across his features. Watson felt it was directed towards him, but he couldn’t quite place it. Holmes’ voice was deep, too, deeper than Watson’s, but not by much. They released each other’s hand and took a step back. Watson looked around the room and thought it to be quite adequate. Holmes didn’t tear his gaze from him. Watson turned on numerous occasions to have that blue stare on him, and Holmes appeared to be concentrating very hard on something important. His features were contorted. ‘I think I’m going to…’

Watson straightened his stance and nodded. ‘Yes, of course, I’ll join you in a moment. I’m just…’

Holmes narrowed his gaze and Watson looked towards his bunk.

‘Yes. The bell will ring soon. You should settle in, Watson.’

Watson nodded, minutely. ‘I’m starving.’

Holmes almost smiled at this. ‘Better not to have many expectations.’

Watson let out a curt laugh. ‘No. Best not.’

‘Evening.’

‘Yes.’

Holmes vanished down the ladder and the hunger that Watson felt was then a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. He really was starving. He thought of home. He almost laughed. Two very different places, yet, he felt he was in the right place. The room was small, but he was suddenly not very worried at all. In fact, Holmes seemed fine, yet there was something about him that Watson couldn’t put his finger on, it made him feel uneasy. But they didn’t have to be friends. Holmes looked like he would keep himself to himself and that was exactly what Watson needed. He looked around the room once more and then descended down the ladder.

 

In the officers’ dining room the tables stretched out far and gave Watson the impression that they continued forever. He made his way over to the table, guided by a familiar voice. It was the only voice he heard and he realised that this one man was holding the conversation. Watson sat down at a free space at the table and caught Holmes’ eye. Holmes smirked as he took a sip out of a beaker that he was clasping rather tightly. Still the voice continued. Watson ate in relative silence. He occasionally lifted his head, only to be greeted by Holmes, who appeared to be nodding impassively at whatever was being said by that one officer, who appeared to _still_ be talking.

Watson found himself smiling and looked up from his plate to Holmes staring at him with a narrowed gaze. Watson could have sworn Holmes was frowning.

At him?

‘Watson, the jug, pass it over.’

Watson looked to his left and saw that a young and round officer was looking at him and then to the jug on his right. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t altogether present, um…’

‘Stamford.’

‘Yes, of course, Stamford.’

Watson passed the jug of water and caught Holmes’ eye again. He was not frowning. There was something altogether different in his stare.

’You’re new,’ Stamford said, pouring water into a beaker.

Watson nodded. ‘I suppose I am.’

‘So, you’re not new?’ Stamford looked puzzled.

‘I was in the 6th Ox and Bucks,’ Watson confirmed.

‘Christ,’ Stamford sighed. ‘Not many of those men left.’

Watson hummed and Holmes listened as intently as he could.

‘Of course, you’re here, which means there are some, I presume,’ Stamford continued.

‘Yes, I think it’s safe for you to presume that I am here,’ Watson replied, curtly.

‘Hah, how’s it being back? Could be any day now,’ Stamford was nodding as he spoke.

‘So I’ve heard,’ Watson drawled. ‘Excuse me.’

Stamford stared, the lone officer continued his laborious tale and Watson could do no more than lift his plate and exit the dining hall.

 

Watson exited the tent and the warm air from the outside was a welcome relief. He didn’t know how he was feeling. It was too much. His need to return to the army was so strong in the summer that he had forgotten entirely what it felt like to be the outsider. The new officer. Yet everyone had been pleasant, they had been respectful. He closed his eyes and opened them slowly. He needed to walk. He needed to find his bearings and think for a while. Yet, he felt anxious. He had been left with his own thoughts for too long at home. Perhaps he should have returned to the dining hall. Perhaps…

‘Watson?’

He turned and saw Holmes standing a few feet away, preparing to light a cigarette.

‘I’m just going for a walk,’ Watson turned again and steadied himself to walk away.

‘Mind if I walk with you?’

Watson paused and turned again.

‘Only if you don’t mind, of course,’ Holmes was smirking again.

‘No. I don’t mind.’

Holmes proffered a cigarette and Watson took it. ‘Bit of a circus.’

Watson glanced at Holmes, who was exhaling smoke towards the clear sky.

‘Sorry?’

Holmes snorted. ‘In the hall, it’s a bit of a circus. Same thing each night, Anderson talks the legs off each stool and we’re all forced to listen.’

Watson paused, confused. ‘I guess.’

Holmes stirred. ‘I don’t mean to be forthcoming, I just assumed, because you left, you felt the same. Exasperated. Despair.’

Watson laughed at this. ‘I guess I did.’

‘Well, I know you did. But mother always tells me not to tell people how they’re feeling, even when I do know.’

‘Your mother is wise,’ Watson stalled to light his cigarette and Holmes waited.

‘She is… something…’

‘My mother doesn’t take much notice. I think she’s too busy hoping people don’t feel anything to think about how they are actually feeling,’ Watson exhaled smoke as he spoke.

‘You aren’t close with your mother and your father is dead. Your sister is older, but not by much, she’s… I’m sorry,’ Holmes quietened, upon noticing Watson’s expression.

‘No. Go on. Let’s see how much you were able to memorise,’ Watson was frowning.

‘Sorry?’

‘My file? Letters?’

Holmes watched him, aghast. ‘I observe.’

‘You observe…’ Watson threw his cigarette to the ground and walked ahead.

‘Watson, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so forthright!’

‘So you've said, but I’m afraid that I’m much past my remit for this evening, Goodnight, Holmes,’ Watson called over his shoulder as he walked briskly into the night. Holmes caught up with him and put a hand on his elbow.

‘Watson, I apologise,’ Holmes’ features were somewhat earnest and Watson was not sure which facade he could trust.

‘It’s quite all right, Holmes. Now, how did you know?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Come on, Holmes. I know you’re dying to tell me. So tell me.’

Holmes narrowed his gaze and when given confirmation from Watson, by way of a curt nod, he explained. ‘I did read your letter.’

Watson sighed. ‘Thank you, Holmes, That’s quite enough. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll…’

‘Watson, I think we both know that if I did in fact read your letter that it would most certainly not tell me half as much of what I know,’ Holmes spoke quickly.

‘Yes. Quite,’ Watson was confused.

‘So, would you like to know how I knew?’ Holmes was smirking again. He looked agitated. Excited. Watson couldn’t help but smile. He closed his eyes and opened them with a sigh. He waved his hand towards Holmes. ‘Yes, fine, tell me.’

‘Excellent! Well, your letter didn’t tell me much. Your sister signed it, but it mentioned your mother and no one else. I was able to safely presume your father was dead. Rightly so, why didn’t your mother write? You are her only son. You aren’t close. You aren’t even close with your sister. There was no affection there, which is understandable. You are now the man of the house. But they see you as more of a soldier. The man of the country, you are not an impoverished family, Watson. Yet here you are…’

‘Here I am,’ Watson was smiling.

‘How did I do?’

‘Very well, quite extraordinary.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Quite,’ Watson could feel his face redden.

Holmes gazed at Watson and a distant bell told them to begin the short walk back to the loft.

‘Day one,’ Watson sighed.

Holmes still stared. ‘How was it?’

Watson started to walk in the direction of the loft and Holmes followed him. ‘It was fine.’

Holmes laughed. ‘Just wait until breakfast. I’m sure Anderson will have another riotous story about how he managed to escape death in the nine hours since he last updated us.’

Watson laughed and Holmes joined in. They walked back to the loft in small bouts of conversation and hushed laugher, as they passed tents, which moved with slumber. They made it to the ladder of their room and Holmes motioned for Watson to climb.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was unrelenting on certain days. They would wake and the overcast sky would mock them. As the day tumbled on, the sky would break and the sun would blast through. It would sear a hole in the clouds and beat down on them. Beating them down. Watson paid no heed to the weather. He recognised how hot it was and still he wore his uniform with precision. Old habits die hard.

‘Captain Watson!’

Watson turned slowly, as he crossed the field, to face his caller.

It was Stamford.

‘Stamford,’ Watson nodded. ‘Hallo.’

‘It’s a beauty, isn’t it?’ Stamford panted, nodding to the sky.

Watson forced his gaze up and closed his eyes, allowing the sun to beat against his face. ‘A good day for it.’

Stamford laughed. ‘It is, aye. Not long to go.’

Watson looked at Stamford’s eager face. ‘Quite.’

‘We’ve been waiting for so long, it’s really time to get it over with,’ Stamford continued.

Watson stared ahead, warily. ‘I’m not particularly fond of the front, Stamford.’

Stamford paused. ‘Sorry, Watson, I didn’t. We’ve just been waiting for a while. Feeling a bit useless.’

_This_ Watson could understand. Feeling useless is not desirable in any circumstance. But when a soldier is feeling useless, it messes with his head. It makes him invincible, in some respects. The officers who die first are usually the ones who had an eager excitement to face the front. Watson glanced at Stamford. Stamford was animated and Watson could only pray for him.

They walked on until they reached the sleeping quarters and Watson turned to bid Stamford farewell. ‘Enjoy your afternoon, I’ll see you this evening for patrol.’

‘How is it?’ Stamford asked, quickly.

Watson frowned. ‘Patrol? It’s fine. Major Lestrade told me you are well equipped, it’s why he recommended you to assist me.’

‘No, not that,’ Stamford excused. ‘How is it, with him?’

Watson glanced back to the entrance of the loft and paused. ‘It’s fine, Stamford.’

Stamford smiled. ‘He wasn’t much of a talker before you turned up. I was wondering.’

‘It’s fine, Stamford,’ Watson confirmed. ‘I will see you this evening.’

Stamford nodded and walked towards his tent. Watson turned to the entrance of the loft and frowned.

 

Holmes was sitting at the desk, writing, when Watson climbed into the room.

‘It’s glorious out there,’ Watson said, taking off his overcoat.

Holmes paused his writing. ‘Much too hot.’

‘I suppose,’ Watson agreed, staring through a gap in the roof, which allowed for a small pool of light to spill into the loft.

Holmes turned away from his writing and stared at Watson. ‘What is it?’

Watson startled. ‘What is what?’

Holmes sighed. ‘Why are you back?’

‘I needed to get away from Stamford,’ Watson admitted.

Holmes allowed a slow smile to change his features, and he laughed. ‘Well, that’s entirely warranted. Do sit down, Watson. Would you like a cup of water?’

Watson laughed. ‘I forgot about the naivety of the soldier.’

‘Shakespeare did not prepare us for that one,’ Holmes said, offhandedly. ‘You’ve seen war, Watson. You’ve lived it. Those men out there are naive because the war has not touched them. Just wait, that’ll change soon enough.’

Watson frowned. ‘I don’t want that to change. I don’t _want_ that for anyone.’

Holmes turned back to his writing. ‘It’s only a matter of time.’

Watson stared at the back of his bunkmate.

Silence expelled itself throughout the room and they sat in a comfortable quiet.

Watson eventually turned to speak. ‘Holmes?’

Holmes paused his writing and turned around, slowly.

‘Sherlock?’ Watson tried.

Holmes narrowed his gaze, deducing the situation. ‘Yes?’

‘That’ll do,’ Watson said, turning back to his boots.

Holmes laughed. ‘Yes, John, I think it might.’

 

Evening patrol consisted of two officers walking from tent to tent. They were always alert. They were always ready for anything out of the ordinary. Watson disliked evening patrol. He much preferred to do patrol in the morning or afternoon, but Major Lestrade had thought it too cruel to put a Captain on patrol in the middle of the day. Like it was a job for the fresh faces that would do anything to get dust on their uniform. So, Watson was given the evening patrol. He was told to choose another officer to accompany him, with Stamford as Major Lestrade’s recommendation. Watson didn’t refuse and every other night he and Stamford walked across a cooling camp and prayed to god that there was no trouble or strangeness.

‘Anderson said Holmes was getting off lightly with his daytime duties,’ Stamford said suddenly, as they walked past the officers’ dining hall.

Watson frowned. ‘What are you getting at, Stamford?’

‘Just that he sits in his bunk all day and doesn’t really do anything,’ Stamford continued. ‘That’s all.’ Watson stopped and Stamford paused to look back at him. ‘What is it, Captain?’

‘You tell me, Stamford,’ Watson answered, sharply.

‘I wasn’t saying that you got him off some duties, I wasn’t saying that, sir,’ Stamford assured him.

‘I certainly hope not,’ Watson answered quickly. ‘No officer gets preferential treatment in this camp. Not one single officer.’

‘I understand, sir,’ Stamford rhymed.

‘Good,’ Watson seethed. ‘But it can be arranged for _certain_ officers to get _different_ treatment, perhaps midday patrol.’

Stamford moved closer to where Watson was standing. ‘Look, Watson, I didn’t mean to accuse you…’

‘I know that, Stamford,’ Watson said.

‘You’re friends, men would do anything for their friends,’ Stamford backtracked.

‘We are friends and he is my bunkmate,’ Watson agreed. ‘But no officer gets preferential treatment, no matter who they are.’

Stamford nodded before starting to walk ahead, Watson fell back and they continued the rest of the patrol in silence.

 

Watson approached the ladder as quietly as he could. When he stood at the bottom he saw that a candle was burning above. Holmes was either still awake or he was a sharp movement away from burning the loft to the ground.

When Watson climbed the ladder he saw that Holmes appeared to be still concentrating on his book. Holmes turned when he heard Watson enter the room. ‘Evening, John.’

Watson smiled and moved to take off his boots. ‘Evening.’

Holmes stared as Watson removed his boots and overcoat. ‘Any ruffians or shenanigans?’

Watson laughed, louder than he anticipated. ‘Not tonight, just some accusations, I give you preferential treatment compared to the other officers. Considering that we’re almost equal rank, I am favouring you and you do fuck all.’

Holmes was staring with wide and bright eyes. ‘Do you?’

Watson faltered. ‘Of course I bloody don’t. I’m not even your bloody captain!’

‘Then what is the problem?’ Holmes countered.

Watson opened his mouth twice before speaking. ‘The problem is they think it.’

Holmes let out a huff of laughter. ‘If that is your biggest problem, John, then I rather think this war is a roaring success.’

Watson smiled. ‘What _do_ you do all day?’

‘Things,’ Holmes smirked.

‘Sherlock…’ Watson said, cautiously. ‘Do you actually do bloody all and I was on patrol defending your lazy arse?’

‘Of course not, John,’ Holmes countered. ‘Major Lestrade keeps me busy.’

Watson frowned. ‘I see.’

‘Yes,’ Holmes agreed. ‘So, there is really no reason for you to get yourself all in a fluster. I do actually have things to do while you’re off babysitting the officers.’

Holmes turned his back and continued to write in his book. Watson stared at him, anger building like a hurricane in his lungs.

 

‘John, I can hear you thinking,’ Holmes sighed, turning around in his chair. ‘What is it?’

Watson stared at him. ‘Major Lestrade _keeps you busy_?’

Holmes set down his pencil and stood. ‘John…’

‘What - have - have you been…’ Watson stared.

‘John,’ Holmes warned.

‘You’ve been reporting to him… about me,’ Watson said flatly.

Holmes nodded.

‘Just me?’ Watson asked suddenly.

Holmes looked helpless and this made Watson smirk for once. ‘No.’

‘It’s nice to know that being made captain has some perks; a loft and a spy, bloody marvellous,’ Watson almost yelled.

‘John, keep your voice down,’ Holmes hushed. ‘I am not a spy.’

‘Then what _are_ you?’ Watson asked. His question was loaded with many things. Holmes winced.

‘I told you, I observe,’ Holmes answered.

‘For once, Sherlock, if I am your friend, do not give me that answer,’ Watson implored. ‘Give me the truth.’

Holmes glanced around the room and then guided Watson to his bunk. They sat. ‘I am not a spy, John. I promise you.’

‘What do you do, Sherlock?’ Watson asked, exasperated.

‘I can read people,’ Holmes started. ‘You know this. I knew all about you. I didn’t spy on you, much.’ Watson laughed at this. ‘But I watched you. I still watch you.’

‘You watch me? On Major Lestrade’s orders?’ Watson asked.

Holmes smiled. ‘Finally, the right questions.’

‘The answer?’ Watson said, unamused.

‘Major Lestrade wanted to know that the officers, every officer, no matter what rank, were toeing the line,’ Holmes stated. ‘You were not singled out and the first time I reported back to Lest- Major Lestrade, he told me to stay off captain Watson.’

Watson nodded in understanding.

‘He told me that you were not his concern,’ Holmes said, quietly.

‘And yet you watched me? You still watch me,’ Watson said, carefully.

Holmes nodded. ‘You’re fascinating and everyone else is rather dull. No amount of fabrication could cause a stir in this fleet.’

Watson smiled. ‘What sort of things did Major want you to… read?’

Holmes sensed Watson’s trepidation. ‘He wants to know who will be capable on the front.’

‘Oh,’ Watson sighed. ‘Jesus…’

‘John…’

‘What if they aren't capable?’ Watson asked.

Holmes looked at Watson. ‘Then they’re the lucky ones.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Watson repeated. ‘And you report back to Major with a list of names?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sherlock,’ Watson started.

‘Don’t, John,’ Holmes interrupted. ‘Of course I put myself on the list. Unfortunately, I am more than capable.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Are you capable of anything other than blasphemy right now?’ Holmes asked, smiling.

‘You’re an idiot,’ Watson breathed, finally. ‘A bloody brave, idiot.’

‘Thank you,’ Holmes smirked.

Watson looked across to Holmes and barked out a laugh. Holmes joined him and they both laughed until the air was cleared. There was a new feeling on the horizon and they each felt a strange pull towards each other, to protect.


End file.
